Time For Potted Meat

No, it's not easy.
Working full-time, being a husband, dad, and comedian equates to a lot of time management. If I had my druthers I would be able to sleep about 4 hours a night and be fully powered to work out every morning, get my son up and play a bit before work, work, come home and play with him more until bath time, put him down for sleepytime, go do comedy, and at least twice a week, have a civil conversation with my wife about how Reality Television is the #1 cause of divorce in this nation... so stop watching it.

But I have to make the most of what time I have. My wife started her own business this year so there are duties for her work, also, on top of being a Full Time Mom!, which is not easy. I've spent days with our son while she's out of town, and it's exhausting. On the days he won't nap, forget it, don't even call me, let alone wonder why I haven't responded to your text about what I did/did not see on the news last night. Thankfully, we have some help with the love of Grandmas (Mimi and Granny-H nearby) and some great friends to watch The Guy when we need a break/drink. But even that requires juggling schedules and attitudes. A friend offered to watch him one weekend, then said "Between 3 and 4."

No thanks, I said, but maybe next time. Honestly, I appreciate the offer and the thought, but the time constraint was too narrow for us to do anything that weekend and...And frankly, I shouldn't have to f*cking explain it. I responded with a "Gosh, I think we're elsewhere at that time, we won't even be home. Maybe next time, but really, thank you for offering." 3pm is not 7pm, and never will be, in the same place at the same time, check your Swatch.

Her feelings were hurt like I'd said "you're a rotten person and you can wrap your hour in a latex sleeve covered in broken glass. And SHOVE IT HOLE-WARDS." Some people can't stomach potted meat. Some folks love it. If you offer it, you can't expect EVERYONE to love it, try it, or be okay with its presence at the potluck. Don't expect an apology if your best effort doesn't meet the standards. You offered, didn't get accepted, move on. (I wish somebody would've laid that on me while I was dating)

What's up with all these analogies and metaphors?
Just tired of the bullshit, that's all. Getting red-assed over the shunning of your potted meat is as mature as being upset that you didn't get a compliment from a stranger on your new haircut. While your efforts should be appreciated, by yourself at the very least, needing constant approval is the sign of a well-developed, oversized lack of self worth. I hope it appreciates, but I can't invest right now.


Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

A Trip Around The Son

My son turned over the One on his Anno-meter a couple weeks ago. It has been a bittersweet week or two, as we get into the YEARS and no longer the months of his age. He was a “baby” for so long. Now a Toddler, he’s been hinting at his need for fewer naps, more food, walking around, and a studio apartment. The past year has, at times, flown by. Other times it was a moment-to-moment grind due to a lack of sleep, not sleeping, bad weather, sleeplessness, and not knowing what to do with a tired baby and wife. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Being a dad has made me reassess everything I thought I knew about Life, Love, and Sacrifice. I don’t think that what we’re doing is “special” nor “immaculate.” A lot of folks are doing this by the seat of their sweatpants, or not doing a damn thing. We are doing our damndest to raise a good kid in a loving environment while he poops his pants, learns to talk and read, and teaches us how to take care of him. I love my son, he’s very special to me and to a lot of relatives and friends, and as far as I’m concerned it’s my duty to teach him all I can about integrity, sleeping, and football. And whatever I know about women I’ll bring up in the form of allegories of “some friend” who “slept around” and got “the fire water” in his “weenis.”

The hardest part of the past year is finding out what we don’t know. There’s been a lot of that. And to get advice from people who either are NOT parents, or from parents with kids who have the personality of an un-oiled chainsaw can be very trying on the tired parent’s ability to not headbutt them. I’m grateful for the help we’ve had from our family and friends. We couldn’t have done it this sober without them. It’s tiring, it’s work, it’s a different kind of fun. It feels like the only thing I’ve ever done that actually matters. I see parents who appear to have quit on their duties, which isn’t fair to their kid, their neighborhood, nor the rest of us. If you don’t care a little about what others may think, you are a sociopath and should be sewn shut.

Here’s something that nobody tells you about a kid who starts walking. When a baby is crawling around you can hear them on the floor, slapping and sliding and gurgling. When a baby starts to walking, they will concentrate on their path and become silent. In doing so they enter a room, silently, and will show up behind you, scaring the bejeezus out of you. Awesome.

So as we continue to learn, our boy keeps growing along with us. The TV says he can read, but we’ll have to see if that works. I may just make the cards myself and find out that he can read blitz coverages, tort law, and cat-trapping schematics. Plus, I’ve noticed a glaring lack of toys in the “Professional Occupations” fields. Lots of tractors and tool benches and Li’l Arc-Welder! kits. Not many Lawyer’s Desks or Dentist Chairs or Li’l Protractors! Why pull sparkplugs for 40 years when you can be a celebrity rehabilitation doctor for a decade or two before a prescription scandal hits?

He slept through the night last night. He’s teething. He’s growing. It’s another part of Life, and though it’s not for everyone, I’m all-in, grateful for the chance to Dad it up with a healthy, happy Dootz.




Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad


MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

A Guide To Commenting On The Internet

The Internet is a dumping ground for many, many half-baked sketches, knock-offs, pervs, dorks, shitbags, dirtwads, buttwads, buttclods, fartknockers, seat-sniffers, and These Guys.
Does anybody know where this look launched from? It's the OiledCanvas, outback, Aussie Duster jacket and the hat combo, which has been made popular by both Dorks AAAAND Fatties for a few years now. I understand there's a certain "Drifting Highwayman With No Home To Return To" vibe, but usually this guy's outside of a mall eating a corndog and reading a book with a dragon on the cover.
IF YOU KNOW, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT MOVIE OR BOOK THIS LOOK CAME FROM.

Okay, see, right there I throw hate-sauce on a look I will never adopt from people I don't hang out with, who don't read this blog. So why do it?

Because it's what the best-smartest and great people do on the internet. See, when you get laid a lot, and have a lots of money its impornant to make sure you are telling people their wrong when you do'nt like something of there's. So heres how you do it. (Not sex, no, I will show you that at your moms house, LOL)

First, go to a sight like YouTube or a newspaper you read on line. There's a place there for you to sign up at. Like put in a name and stuff, so chose your name carefully. Make sure it says something about you and what your in to, but not your real name. Use something intimidating or from your hometown so people know where youre representing at. Or what football team you like because baseball is stupid.

And then you sign up and go around to whatever's on the websight. Like videos of comics, tell them their not funny. Don't say why it's not funny, neither. Leaving an explanation is'nt what your doing. See its like this that you are there to tell people to shut the hell up and stop clogging the internet with their crap. If they want help they can go to their moms when I'm not on top of her LMFAO. Who cares if your called an ass hole by some faygit?

What ever you do, though do'nt like make your own stuff and put it out. See your self as artist and not some faygit dorkass hole who puts all his own stuff out. People hate that shit, and the people you work with would be ideats all day at work and yo'ud never get any pizza made. So tell people 'YEAY YOU SUCK' and let 'em suck it when your moms not sucking it.



[dedicated to every negative comment-leaving person who actually takes time from their life to anonymously post a dead-end comment. If they ever ponder suicide, I hope to be there when their grandmother walks into the basement to find them hanging from a belt with a porn looping on their laptop screen over a game of World Of Warcraft. F*ck empathy, the world's too small, but I guess somebody has to abuse animals.]